The Long Road Home
by Silver pup
Summary: AU — In another lifetime, it is the Shire that is attacked and stolen by a dragon for reasons unknown. Years later, Bilbo Baggins embarks on a journey to Erebor in a desperate attempt to find aid in reclaiming his homeland. But once there, he finds that taking on a dragon will be the least of his concerns as he struggles through conspiracies and the King Under the Mountain.
1. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter One

**The Long Road Home**

Summary: (AU) In another lifetime, it is the Shire that is attacked and stolen by a dragon for reasons unknown. Years later, Bilbo Baggins embarks on a journey to Erebor in a desperate attempt to find aid in reclaiming his homeland. But once there, he finds that taking on a dragon will be the least of his concerns as he struggles through conspiracies, his own identity, and the King Under the Mountain.

Main Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo. Others will be added as the story progresses.

Warnings: Does not follow cannon. No, seriously, this has nothing to do with cannon. _At all._

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

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><p><strong>A<strong>ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **O**ne

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><p>Out of all the places Bilbo had visited in his life, Rivendell was his favorite.<p>

It wasn't really a surprise. The Elven city was hidden in a valley among the foothills of the Misty Mountains. That meant it was surrounded by lush greenery, streaming waterfalls, and homes crafted with the finest artistry. The Elves who lived there were always welcoming and gracious to visitors and their hospitality was the best when compared to their cousins; the Elves of Mirkwood and Lothlórien. But the greatest reason that Bilbo liked it best was because it was the only place that he had ever felt truly safe from harm.

"How long will we be staying this time?" he quietly asked the older Hobbit at his side as they followed the others up the familiar pristine staircase. The white stone was so clean and clear that he had a feeling if he stared at it long enough, then he would go blind.

His Uncle Isengrim shrugged his wide shoulders. "I haven't had a chance to discuss it yet with Lord Elrond. But knowing him, I'd say about two seasons at the most. Maybe three if I can send some of the boys out for work. Then we'll have less and they won't mind if we stay longer."

"And if they don't? Where will we go then?" he prodded, glancing up the stairs and counting the heads of the children he could see. The young ones had a bad habit of wandering off in new places, and Rivendell was certainly new to a few of them. Lola in particular was infamous for running off to 'explore.' He would have to keep an extra eye on her.

"I don't know," his uncle replied honestly, lowering his voice slightly, "but we'll find a place. Don't worry about it, lad. You have enough things to think about. Let me handle this."

Bilbo bit his lower lip sharply to keep from replying. He trusted that his uncle would find them a place to go to after Rivendell, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the location or the journey. He'd be a fool not to worry.

When they finally reached the top of the staircase, they found Lord Elrond waiting for them as some of the children scurried around his legs. The Elf didn't seem fazed, and even smiled down at them with open fondness. All Elves—even the suspicious and cold ones from Mirkwood—adored children.

"Hail, Lord Elrond," his uncle greeted, giving a small bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for granting us permission to visit your city. We appreciate your generosity."

Elrond nodded back as the corner of his full lips twitched into a half-smile that showed off the perfect arch of his jaw line. "Welcome back, Thain Took. It is always a pleasure to see you and your kin. I trust you did not have much trouble finding us?"

"No more trouble than usual," Isengrim replied, completely leaving out that they had been attacked by bandits. But considering there were only three, he probably did only see it as a minor nuisance. Bilbo certainly did.

The Elf nodded; his gray eyes calm and smooth as liquid silver. "Of course. Please, come and make yourselves at home. My people will show you where you may stay."

Isengrim bowed his head in gratitude before following the Elven Lord into the city. Bilbo lingered behind; looking over his kin as they shuffled along after the Elves. When his eyes caught sight of a small and familiar hand reaching up to pull on one Elf's long hair, he quickly moved closer and caught the tiny wrist before it could reach its prey.

"Don't even think about it," he whispered, pulling the child closer to his side. "I've told you about touching every little thing you see, Adelard."

Adelard, his youngest cousin, pouted up at him. "I was only going to touch it a little bit. It's so shiny! Like water!"

He rolled his eyes and hauled the child up into his arms before he could try to make a break for it. "You can't go around touching a stranger's hair. It's not polite."

"What if I ask them first? Then can I touch it?" Adelard haggled, his small arms going around Bilbo's neck.

"No," he replied, making a mental note to teach the imp about stranger danger at a later time. "It's still not polite."

Adelard groaned and tossed his dark curls back dramatically. Bilbo couldn't help but smirk and dug his fingers into the vulnerable ribs at his disposal. In return, the child squeaked before breaking into giggles and attempted to wiggle away.

"Bilbo, stop!" he pleaded, giggling into his cousin's shoulder. "I give up!"

"Next time I catch you doing that I won't go so easy on you," he warned as he stopped his tickle torture.

Adelard rolled his eyes and curled closer to the older Hobbit. "Bilbo, is this going to be our new home?"

Bilbo flinched. It was a common enough question among the children whenever they came to a new place, but it still never failed to make his chest feel as if all the air had been sucked out. It was a feeling that he had lived with all his life, but that didn't make it easier to endure.

"No, Adelard. I'm afraid it's not," he replied softly, and tried not to show how much those words hurt him to say.

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><p>They hadn't always been nomads. According to his mother, Hobbits had a home of their own once. A beautiful and fertile land that was unlike any other place in the world. It was called the Shire.<p>

"It sits in Eriador where the Kingdom of Arnor once lingered," his mother had explained to him when he was a child. "It is a small but good land with lots of space to build homes and grow crops. Oh, love, it was so beautiful. Rolling green hills as far as the eye can see… streams so clear and clean you could see the bottom. There is no other place in the world that could ever compare to it."

Bilbo could only take her word for it. He had never seen this homeland for himself. No, he was (un)lucky to be born after they were driven out by the dragon Smaug.

"I remember the day he came," his father had once recounted to him when he was older. He recalled it well because it was the year that his father had passed away. "He was so large that he blocked out the sun completely. Fire rained down on us all. The fields burned, the houses burned, the cattle burned… even the people burned. He burned everything until there was nothing left but ashes."

"So many were lost that day," his mother had agreed, her beautiful and burned face twisting into a look of haunting sorrow that he could never understand. "More than half of us were killed. The ones who did live were left injured and homeless."

"We never did learn why the bastard chose to invade _our_ home," his father added, his blue eyes turning as cold as a night on the Misty Mountains. "We had no treasure to lure him there. No gold or silver or precious jewels to tempt him. Smaug had no reason at all to come and take our home away from us like that. No reason at all."

"Why didn't you fight to take it back?" Bilbo had asked because he had been born on the road where fighting to survive was all he knew. "Why not go and get help and then drive the beast out once and for all?"

His mother had just looked at him with soft brown eyes that mirrored his own. "Oh, love, our people are no warriors. We lived in peace with the world for so long that when we were finally challenged, we didn't know what to do. We still don't, really. It is taking everything we have just to keep our people going as it is. We could never muster the strength it would take to challenge Smaug for the Shire."

His parents had died believing that their people were doomed to wander the world forever homeless. Bilbo had no intention of following in their footsteps.

"I think staying here for three seasons would be the best option," he mentioned to his uncle later that night after they were settled in their new lodgings. "It will take me a full season alone just to reach Rhovanion. Coming back will be even longer."

Isengrim nodded as he rubbed his chin. "True. We must also take into account any… accidents you may run into."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and leaned back into the padded chair that was really too large for him. "Uncle, I'll be fine. I've traveled to Rhovanion before."

"But never by yourself," the older Hobbit retorted, narrowing his hazel eyes. "And never with such a large sum of money."

"I can handle any danger out there," he replied, raising his chin high. "I can also hide the coin just as easily. I can do this, uncle. Trust me."

"It's not you that I don't trust, Bilbo," his uncle admitted, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he leaned back into his own chair with a defeated sigh. Isengrim was the oldest of his mother's siblings, and it was becoming clearer every day that he wasn't going to last much longer. His dark brown curls had long ago turned gray while his skin was paper thin and wrinkled. Even his walk was beginning to grow slower and hunched as the injury he took to his knee from escaping Smaug finally reared its ugly head.

Bilbo felt a prickle of guilt at the sight. After his mother died, Isengrim had taken him in and raised him to adulthood. He loved his uncle dearly and he owed him everything. Making the Thain look so old and defeated was wrong of him.

"I know you're only worried about my safety," he said quietly, lowering his chin and looking down to the floor. "But that doesn't change what needs to be done. If we ever want to go home, then you need to let me go."

Isengrim nodded and sat up straighter. "You're right, of course. Now is not the time to fall apart. We must focus on your journey. Now, have you decided which city you plan to visit first?"

He nodded and ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. "Yes, I have decided to first visit Dale and Erebor. Dale is a city of Men but rumors say that the ruling lord there is honorable. I will see what forces I can buy from there and Erebor before moving on to the Iron Hills. I do not know how the Dwarves will take my offer of gold, but I'm hoping the challenge of battle might win me a few warriors."

"What of Gondor? Will you visit there?" the older Hobbit questioned.

He shook his head. "Not unless I'm desperate. The steward there is rumored to be ruthless and cruel. He is more likely to kill me and rob my corpse than he is to help me."

"He did show little sympathy to our crisis when the Baggins went to him for help," Isengrim admitted, nodding his head with a small frown. "You'd save yourself time avoiding it altogether along with Mirkwood and Lothlórien."

"You do not think the Elves will offer us their aid?" he asked quietly, watching his uncle's face.

Isengrim's mouth tightened into a straight line. "We asked for their help once in the beginning and were turned away. I doubt that they would have changed their minds within the last hundred years."

Bilbo thought back to the Elvenking and his expressionless face and found himself agreeing. "You're right. I will not bother with them unless forced to. Have you decided who will go through Eriador?"

"Yes. I've decided to send your cousin Sigismond to the Blue Mountains," his uncle replied. "I also think I will send a few more of the lads along to find work there, and to make contact with the other clans."

"What for? They've clearly shown what they think of our plan," he said with a hint of iron in his tone.

Isengrim gave him the same look his mother used to give him when she caught him stealing treats from Men. "Bilbo, you cannot hold it against them for staying out of this. This venture of ours is large and mostly riding on luck and good fortune; a state that the other clans cannot rely on. They are weaker and poorer than us, and cannot afford to place everything they have on this mad quest. At least if we fail we still have work and savings to count on; the others do not have such a luxury."

Bilbo snorted but didn't argue with his uncle. He knew he was being childish, but he couldn't help feeling angry and bitter with the other Hobbit clans for refusing to help them in their attempt to reclaim the Shire. It was their home too so why couldn't they fight for it as well? It didn't help either that the Baggins clan—his father's family—was one of the strongest oppositions to their quest.

"When shall I leave then?" he asked, changing the subject. "After you meet with Lord Elrond?"

"That would be best," Isengrim agreed, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach. It was a strange thing to see a thin Hobbit as their kind was more prone to being plump and round. But living on the fringes of society meant that food was scare, and going hungry was all too common. It was very rare to see a Hobbit that was not thin with sharp cheekbones and bony wrists. Sometimes they were even mistaken for Elven children thanks to their pointed ears and lack of facial hair.

"I need to know how long we will be staying before I send you off," his uncle continued, rubbing one of his thumbs over his knuckles. "We also need to prepare you for the journey."

He smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, uncle. I've packed what I need and am ready to sew the coins into the secret pockets in my coat and bag. Once I do I can immediately leave."

The Hobbit blinked for a moment before chuckling fondly. "Of course you are. How silly of me to forget exactly whose son you are."

His smile widened and he gave his uncle a wink. "We Baggins may not be the most bold of the clans, but we are certainly the most prepared."

"Sadly, that is the only redeeming feature you Baggins hold," Isengrim replied with a mocking cluck of his tongue. "It makes up for your taste in pies and fabric."

Bilbo gave a loud gasp and clutched his chest as if in physical pain. "Uncle, you wound me! How can you be so cruel to your favorite nephew—"

"I don't see Flambard in the room," Isengrim interrupted, raising both of his bushy brows.

"—who was even going to be so kind as to make you some tea?" he finished as he slid out of the chair with a melodramatic huff. "Well, not anymore, I say. You can get your own tea and your own biscuits and save your own bloody land because I quit this family—"

"Bring some milk and honey while you're at it," his uncle called from behind as he stalked out of the room.

Bilbo gave another dramatic scoff that finally earned him the chuckle he was aiming for, and secretly smiled to himself. Hearing his uncle laugh was always like swallowing a mouthful of sunshine. Tooks usually had a good sense of humor and were always willing to laugh and smile—even when living as nomads who begged for help to survive at whatever kingdom they came across. But Isengrim was Thain of the Tooks; the leader of their clan and the one everyone depended on to find them shelter and food. He had a lot to worry about and very little time to sit around telling jokes over a pitcher of ale. So it was always a rare gift to get his uncle to smile or even laugh once in a great while.

_Soon he'll be able to smile and laugh all he wants_, Bilbo vowed to himself as stalked through the halls to the kitchens. _We all will._

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><p>Their plan to reclaim the Shire was really a very simple one despite what the other clans thought. Hobbits, while being quick and silent, were no warriors. They were shorter than even Dwarves with soft flesh that did little to protect their equally small bones. Even their very nature went against battle; preferring to settle disputes with words rather than fists. They could never hope to stand against a dragon with those odds against them.<p>

So, instead, they would assemble an army to fight Smaug for them.

Anyone who heard it agreed that it was a good plan. The only hitch to it though was that it was also a long one. First they had to work and gather the coin needed to hire their army. Since they were already beggars living off of the pity of others, they could only save so much after each job. Isengrim had told him that he had begun the plan years before Bilbo was even born. Now, with Bilbo at the age of thirty, they had finally collected enough coin to buy their army.

"Yah won't find anyone crazy enough to volunteer," his cousin, Fortinbras, said to him the next day as he helped Bilbo peel potatoes. "No one is gonna go against a dragon no matter how much gold ya' throw at 'um."

"I will find willing soldiers somewhere," he retorted confidently, never looking away from his task. "Some warriors will take it as a challenge. Others because they simply love the rush of battle. And then there are those who will be lured by the promise of gold and fame that come with slaying a dragon."

"The only ones who'd fall for 'dat line are dem greedy Men and crazy Dwarves," Fortinbras argued, pointing his knife at Bilbo's cheek. "And ya can't bring back the likes of those. D'ayed kill us and rob us 'for the bodies go cold."

He rolled his eyes and nudged the knife away from his face with his own blade. "Don't be so paranoid. I'm not going to hire just anyone for this. I'm going to investigate first before I make my decision. I'll gather information on them, their reputation, and first impressions I get before I drag them off to fight Smaug."

"I still say 'dis is a stupid idea," his cousin grumbled, viciously peeling his potato with deep and quick strikes. "We should just use 'da coin to buy land and start over again. What's 'da point of going back to a land that most of us has neveh seen?"

"Do you know of any land up for sale?" Bilbo pointed out, raising both of his eyebrows as he stared at the Hobbit next to him. "Any kingdom that would welcome us without complaint from their people? If you do then please share it with us less intelligent folk, Fortinbras."

"Y'know, it's remarks like 'dat that keep gettin' you in trouble," Fortinbras retorted, tossing back his thick black curls as they fell into his fey green eyes again. His cousin was half Brandybuck and had luckily inherited the wild beauty that his mother's clan was known for. Unfortunately he didn't get their militia tactics and cunning mindset, which was a real shame because he was next in line as the Thain of the Tooks.

"Maybe. But I can handle any trouble that comes my way," Bilbo reminded his older cousin, nudging the other's pale calf with his bare foot.

Fortinbras scoffed and nudged him back with his elbow. "Get 'dat nasty foot away from me! Where's your damn bandages? Y'know how dirty our feet get. Ya wanna offend our hosts by dirtying up their shiny floors?"

He snorted and threw one of his potato peels at Fortinbras's hair. "They ripped back in the mountains, remember? I'll get more before I leave."

Fortinbras set his knife and potato down in his lap as he turned to the other Hobbit with a frown. "Bilbo, how long you gonna be gone?"

"I don't know. However long it takes," he replied, shrugging. "Maybe three seasons or more. It will take me a good while just to reach the city of Dale, and even longer to visit Erebor and the Iron Hills."

Fortinbras's finely boned face twisted into a scowl that looked wrong on his handsome face. "That's too long to be on your own. Y'ah should have one of us come with ya just to be safe."

Bilbo shook his head firmly. "No. Uncle will be sending you and the others out for work while I'm gone. You need to help support the clan incase this plan backfires on us."

"But dat's even more reason for us tah stick together!" his cousin argued, his scowl turning even fiercer until he looked like a deranged animal instead of a Hobbit. "Y'ah needs someone there to back yah up! Isengrim knows 'dat! He should be lettin' me go with yah instead of sendin' me off tah work in some smelly city of Men!"

"You know he can't send you; you're the heir and eldest among us," he reminded calmly as he finished his potato and picked up a new one. Fortinbras was very emotional so he was quite used to his cousin's outbursts. Sometimes it seemed like he felt too strongly and could only handle one emotion at a time as it consumed him completely. It was a common enough trait among Tooks, but Bilbo had been able to avoid inheriting it, thank Eru.

"If something happens to you then Flambard will be the heir," he continued on, giving the other a side-eyed look. "Do you really want to force our clan through such horror? Haven't we suffered enough?"

Fortinbras's shoulders drooped and his scowl shifted into a pout. "No. Dat's a cruelty I wouldn't wish even on an Orc. But I can't stand that you're leavin' us for so long. We've never been apart for more 'den a season at most! What am I supposed to do with ya gone for almost a year?"

Bilbo felt his heart soften as the puzzle finally clicked in his head. Fortinbras and he had grown up together along with their cousins Flambard, Adalgrim, Sigisimond, and Primula. They had lived side-by-side and had experienced nearly everything together. They had lived apart at times, of course, but never for so long or so far. It was a new experience for them all, and he could admit that part of him was scared to leave his family behind for so long. It was only logical that Fortinbras would feel that same fear even if he would never admit it in a million years.

"Well, you could write me letters. Eru knows you can't spell to save your life," he offered, nudging his cousin in the side with his elbow because humor and flattery was the best way to comfort Fortinbras. Bilbo could do humor and sarcasm but he wasn't about to coo over his older cousin. The Hobbit's ego was big enough in his opinion.

"Oi, you're the Baggins here, not me," Fortinbras scoffed, raising his pert nose high into the air. "You can go on stealin' your little books for 'da both of us. Though… I suppose I could write a letter or two for yah. Since I know 'yah like to read 'um so much."

Bilbo carefully titled his head to the side so the other wouldn't see his smile. "It would be good practice for you. Maybe soon you will be able to read better than Adelard."

"But Adelard can't read yet," his cousin argued with a frown before his eyes went wide. "Oh, I get it, yur tryin' to be funny again. Too bad it fails as bad as yur omelets."

"Ooh, big word there. Did you hurt yourself learning it?" he shot back, flicking another potato peel at his cousin's hair.

Fortinbras squawked and retaliated with his own stray peels. Bilbo ducked and laughed as his cousin began to rant about his hair. While he didn't care to listen to Fortinbras grumble, he didn't complain or attempt to change the subject. After all, he wasn't going to be hearing it again for the next few seasons.

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><p>"So, uncle says you're leaving soon," Primula—his only female cousin on the Took side that was close to his age—declared later that day as she stood over him with her hands braced on her round hips. She was dressed in loose brown trousers that she had probably stolen from Sigisimond, and a white shirt that was only buttoned halfway up her chest. Bilbo cringed slightly as he saw more of her breasts than he ever wanted to.<p>

"Please button up your shirt. You breasts are practically falling out," he said, pointedly covering his eyes with one hand.

Primula snorted and shoved his hand away; clearly ignoring his wishes. "Then don't look, stupid. It's not my problem if you feel uncomfortable."

"Do you have any sort of shame?" he wondered, keeping his eyes on her face.

His cousin smirked and crossed her arms under her chest; shoving her breasts up and together so that they pushed out of her shirt even more. It was clearly a deliberate move, and he kicked her gently in the shin for it.

"You're such a brat," he grumbled without any real heat. "What do you want, Prim?"

"I just wanted to give you something before you left," she replied, reaching for something long and wrapped in cloth that she had strapped to her back. She tugged it loose and then handed it to Bilbo. "Here. Open it up and tell me what you think."

Bilbo did as asked and blinked in surprise at what he found. "A sword? Where did you get this?"

"A Man back in Rohan was selling some odd blades he had collected over the years," Primula explained, squatting down in front of him and wrapping her arms around her legs. "He claimed it is Elven made but got no use with it because it's so small. Do you like it?"

He nodded as he examined the smooth sword with reverence. He had seen many beautiful blade in his life, but this one was quite possible the loveliest of them all. "I do. Thank you, Prim. It is the best gift I could ever get."

Primula's rosebud lips softened into an honest smile at his words. Nearby, a few Hobbits and even some Elves paused and took a second glance at her. Like Fortinbras, Primula was a Brandybuck from her father's side, and had inherited the same good looks as him. The only difference was that she didn't bask in the attention her midnight curls and soft skin brought her.

"I knew you would love it," she cheered, rocking back slightly on her heels. "As soon as I saw it I knew I had to get it for you! It just matches you perfectly! What are you going to call it?"

"I think I'll call it 'Sting' since I can poke people with it," he replied, making a jabbing motion with the blade in question.

Prim looked unimpressed. "Really? That's the best name you can think up?"

"You have something better?" he retorted, lightly smacking her in the leg with the flat end of his blade.

"Pff, yeah, how about 'The Cleaver?' Since you're gonna cleave Orcs with it," his cousin replied, pushing the sword away with her hand.

Bilbo snorted and carefully placed his new gift on the ground next to him. "I'm pretty sure the Dwarves already claimed that name."

Prim hummed in her throat and cocked her head to the side. "Bilbo?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll be safe, right? Going so far away alone," the female said, staring at him through her mess of midnight curls. "You won't take any dangerous chances, right?"

He squinted at her. "Define dangerous."

"Bilbo," Prim warned, her tone shifting from honey to iron in a blink.

He held up his hands in surrender and leaned back slightly. "It was just a joke, calm down. I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll stay safe and find us our army and be back before you know it."

"And if you're not? What will we do then?" she asked quietly, lowering her gaze to the ground. "What do we do if this doesn't work? Will we spend the rest of our days wandering?"

Though he hated to admit it, he didn't have an answer for her. There was no backup plan if his mission failed. No second chance to hire someone new to help them, no savior coming to assist them in defeating Smaug. The future of his people—_his family_—was riding on his success in finding an army. If Bilbo failed, then he knew that his clan really would be the nomads that his parents died as.

"I'm not going to fail," he said with a confidence that he couldn't honestly claim, "and I'm not going to get hurt or die. I'm going to bring us an army and get our home back, Prim. I won't accept anything else."

Primula looked up at him from under her thick lashes and smiled. "You sound so sure of yourself, cousin. It makes me almost want to believe that nothing will go wrong."

"I didn't say that there won't be some trouble," he rebuked, shaking his head. "But I will get through it all one way or another. Sting will probably even help in some cases."

"Not with that name it won't," the younger Hobbit retorted, wrinkling her freckled nose at him. "You're more liable to get laughed at than threatened."

"Either way, it would still get me out of some messy situations," he pointed out, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "By the way, can you do me a favor while I'm gone?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Take care of Uncle Isengrim while I'm away," he answered, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice so their younger cousins nearby wouldn't hear. "I won't be around to make sure he eats and gets enough sleep so I need you to do it. If you don't, he'll end up giving his food away to the younglings and will stay up all night working."

Primula nodded her head thoughtfully. "You're right. He'll also probably be lonely without you around. Don't worry, Bibi; I'll take care of him."

Bilbo relaxed and leaned back to his former position. "Thank you, Prim. You're the only one I knew I could trust with this. The others… they just wouldn't understand."

Primula patted his knee in sympathy. Like Bilbo, Primula had lost both of her parents at a young age thanks to a fishing accident. She had lived with her father's clan for a short while before their Uncle Hildifons took her in. And much like Isengrim, Hildifons had no spouse or children, and so Prim became his child and dearest family member, and she in turn adored him dearly.

"I know, Bilbo, I know," she said, giving him her sweet smile that drew in the stares and whispers. "I'll keep an eye on him. Uncle Hildifons will probably even help too. He knows how Uncle Isengrim is like if left unattended."

"Just don't leave them alone together for too long," he warned as he felt his heart ease up at her vow. "You know what happens when you leave two Took brothers unsupervised. We really can't afford to pay for the repairs the Elves would demand."

* * *

><p>Bilbo didn't tell anyone but Isengrim the day he was leaving. He knew that if he did tell the rest of his family, then they would make a huge fuss in sending him off. Not only would that inconvenience their hosts—and possibly get them kicked out—but it would also weaken his resolve to leave. Bilbo could admit that he didn't want to leave his clan; he loved them all with everything he was and they were the safe and comfortable life he knew. But he also understood that he couldn't allow his fear of the unknown get in the way of his mission. And so, knowing all of that, Bilbo had only his uncle there to bid him farewell for what could possibly be the last time.<p>

"You have your map on you, yes?" Isengrim questioned as he looked Bilbo up and down.

He nodded and patted his coat pocket that held the map in question. "Safe and sound right here."

"And your knife? You have that too?" Isengrim pushed.

He patted in left thigh in answer. "It's right where it always is."

The older Hobbit still didn't look reassured. "What about food? Are you sure you have enough—"

"Uncle," he interrupted, trying not to laugh, "I promise that I have everything that I need. And what I don't have I can find on my own. So stop clucking over me before I start calling you Aunt Rosa."

"You offend me. I am nothing like that she-devil," sniffed the Thain, raising his nose into the air. "I am appalled that name would ever cross your mind."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and hefted his pack higher up on his shoulder. "So you say. Well, if there's nothing else then I should—"

"Wait," Isengrim said, this time interrupting him in midsentence. His hazel eyes flickered over Bilbo before meeting his nephew's gaze full on. When he did, Bilbo saw something wither away like a breeze sweeping away the leaves.

"Bilbo… I'm sorry," his uncle murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I never wanted to burden you with this. I never meant for you to be a part of my crazy plans. If your mother was still alive, I'm sure she would have punched me for even suggesting that you carry out the plan."

"Uncle," he whispered, his heart clenching tight at the pain in the older Hobbit's face. He should have seen this coming. Isengrim had no spouse or children and had lost three brothers and a sister in Smaug's fiery storm. In the years that followed, he had lost another brother, his remaining two sisters, and a vast number of nephews and nieces and cousins. Bilbo and the clan were all he had left in the world, and now he was about to send one of them off to his potential death.

Slowly, Bilbo reached out and grasped his uncle's shoulders tightly. "Uncle Isengrim, I'm coming back. With or without an army, I will come back to you all. I promise."

"Oh, lad," Isengrim sighed, giving Bilbo a small, half-smile. "You really shouldn't make such a promise so lightly. It may just come back to haunt you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

So I always wanted to do a story where Thorin and Bilbo met as different people, but I couldn't get behind the idea of changing their race/gender/social class. So I decided to change their back stories instead. And then I got a bit carried away. Whoops.

**Silver pup**


	2. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**wo

* * *

><p>It took Bilbo a full season to reach Rhovanion.<p>

As far as traveling went, it was a rather uneventful ordeal. He faced the occasional wandering animal and rough bandit, but he dealt with them sufficiently enough through fleeing or fighting. He wasn't forced to endure any extreme weather conditions, or a traveling caravan of quick-talking Dwarves. He even got through Mirkwood without being interrogated by one of the wild Elves that lived there. In fact, it was not until he was in the outskirts of Dale that he encountered something that made him pause.

Orcs.

If there was ever a race that he wished death upon, it would be the Orcs. They were vicious monsters who were unfortunately as cunning as they were bloodthirsty. A good deal of his people had been killed and eaten by the horrible beasts ever since they lost the Shire. Bilbo even had a few relatives that had died at their hands. With that blood vendetta on him, he always made it a habit of killing as many of the creatures as he could.

This time was no different.

The moment he heard the sound of battle, he slipped behind the nearest tree and pulled up his brown cloak so it covered his hair and allowed him to blend in with the foliage. Then, silently, he followed the sounds and eventually smells of blood and feces to the Orcs. If there was one thing that was consistent about the monsters, it was that they never bathed and could therefore always be found through smell alone.

When he finally found the beasts, he discovered that they were not alone. A single Dwarf with long black hair was fighting three of them with an axe and the strangest shield that he had ever seen. When Bilbo looked closer, he realized that the shield was not even a proper shield; it was simply a piece of oak carved and smoothed down to fit the warrior's thick forearm.

_Dwarves. They get stranger every year_, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes as he found the nearest tree and began to climb. He kept an eye on the Orcs and Dwarf but none of them noticed him as he deftly slipped up the branches until he was properly hidden amongst the leaves. As he climbed, he realized that the Dwarf was not alone; two other Dwarves laid motionless on the ground a few feet away from him. Both of them had the back of their heads bashed in by what was most likely the huge hammer that one of the Orcs was swinging.

_Bastards_, he thought in disgust, feeling anger and sorrow rise in him. Even if he didn't hate Orcs, seeing those two Dwarves dead sealed his resolve to kill the three creatures below him. It didn't matter that he didn't know the Dwarves personally, or that the whole battle didn't involve him one bit. They had unjustly killed two people and were trying to kill a third; Bilbo was going to make them pay.

Sliding his bow off his back, the Hobbit picked pulled out a single arrow from the quiver at his hips. Carefully taking aim, he watched the Orcs patiently until he could properly predict their movements. Once he was satisfied with what he knew, he released the arrow and watched it bury itself in the open flesh of one of the Orc's backs.

Hobbit' arrows were always too small and light to do any serious damage like the arrows of Men and Elves. But the arrow _was_ perfect for hurting its target and distracting it from everything else. As the Orc he hit screamed and reached behind to grab the arrow to pull it out, the Dwarf it had been fighting previously took the opportunity to bury his axe in the Orc's thigh. The Orc lost its balance from the sudden hit and collapsed to its knees; putting it in the perfect position for the Dwarf to neatly behead it with one swing.

Bilbo didn't bother to wait for the Dwarf to act though. As soon as he released his first arrow, he was pulling out another and lining it up and releasing it. As he watched, it went through the delicate skin of an Orc's hamstring and brought it to its knees as well. Soon enough it joined its companion in the headless club.

The final Orc—now alone and at a clear disadvantage—snarled and tried to smash the Dwarf's face open with a club only to miss as Dwarf dodged it. Bilbo quickly put another arrow in its neck while the Dwarf followed up with an axe to the belly. The Orc gasped and collapsed and twitched but did not get up.

At that point, the Hobbit would wait for the Dwarf to leave before climbing down the tree to retrieve his arrows. From his experience, whenever he helped a Dwarf in battle, it either resulted in offended hostility or overwhelming gratitude; neither of which he had time for. These days he simply avoided interacting with the people he helped altogether.

But this Dwarf was not following the procedure of picking up his things and leaving. In fact, he did something even worse: he collapsed to the ground and did not get back up.

_Uh oh. Don't tell me he's dead_, the Hobbit worried, biting his lower lip. With a heavy heart, he tugged his bow back into place on his back and quickly climbed down the tree. He dropped off the third branch and landed in a crouch before running to the motionless Dwarf. Rolling him over onto his back, he examined the stranger and found that he had been stabbed in the shoulder along with numerous other smaller injuries.

The Dwarf groaned and opened his eyes to stare up at Bilbo. "W-Who…?"

"I'm the one who helped you with the Orcs," he quickly filled in, meeting the stranger's eyes and examining them. The pupils were so wide and glazed that he could barely make out the ring of light blue around them. "What happened? What did they stab you with?"

The Dwarf's gaze flickered over to one of the Orcs. Bilbo followed his gaze and spotted the sword in its limp hand. Quickly he got to his feet and rushed over to pick up the blade and examine it. When he saw what was on it, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Witches' thimbles," he spat, throwing the blade to the ground and marching back to his patient. "Bastards. But don't worry; I can cure you. I have crushed charcoal with me."

The Dwarf didn't seem to hear him as he closed his eyes and struggled to breathe evenly. Bilbo kneeled down next to him and reached for his pack that held all of his healing supplies. When he found the vial he was looking for, he quickly pulled it out and then wormed his arm under the Dwarf's head in order to make him sit up.

"Come on now; help me out here and drink this," he ordered, bracing the heavy Dwarf's body against his own. "You need to drink it if you want to live. It will taste disgusting so try not to throw it back up."

The Dwarf opened his eyes and took the vial that Bilbo held in front of him and knocked it back with one gulp. He coughed a bit but managed to keep it down for the most part. Satisfied, he helped the Dwarf lay back down and turned his attention to the open wounds that still needed to be treated.

"Sorry about this," he said before pulling out his knife where it was strapped to his thigh and began slicing the Dwarf's armor off. He was lucky the stranger was wearing only leather and not the full-plate armor that he had seen some Dwarves in. With his knife, he sliced through the leather and cloth until he came upon the Dwarf's smooth and hairy chest.

Bilbo clucked his tongue when he saw the wounded shoulder. It was a clean cut but a piece of metal was stuck in the flesh that had to be removed if he wanted the Dwarf to live. "Try not to jerk up and punch me," he told the stranger before beginning to pull out the piece of broken weaponry with a pair of small tongs.

To his relief, the Dwarf hissed and jerked but did not fight him. Slowly he pulled the piece of metal free and tossed it off to the side without a care. With the threat of infection gone, Bilbo turned his attention to cleaning and stitching up the wound to the best of his abilities. When he was done, he focused on the minor wounds and began to clean them as well, and even bandage the ones that looked like they could risk becoming inflamed.

It was late afternoon by the time he was finished completely. When he looked up at the sky, he was surprised to see how much time had gone by while he was tending to his patient. Soon night would fall, which meant that he needed to find shelter for the night. He wouldn't be able to walk any further for the day.

"You used up a lot of my time," he told the unconscious Dwarf as he looked around the clearing for a good place to rest for the night. "If you end up dying on me in the night, then I am going to be very upset with you."

The Dwarf, naturally, didn't reply.

Bilbo did his best to drag the Dwarf off the main road and deeper into the woods, where he dug a shallow hole that he padded with his own mat and blanket and cloak. There he placed his patient with as many leaves as he could gather around him and, after making sure he was still breathing, started a small fire close to him. He had just gotten himself comfortable at long last when the sound of hooves coming from the south of the road caught his attention

Groaning under his breath, he pushed some dirt over the fire and then pushed the leaves he had gathered earlier over his patient. With the Dwarf safe, Bilbo climbed a tree close to the road so he could see who was coming, but still close enough to also keep his unconscious companion in sight.

_Can't be Orcs. No smell or howls_, the Hobbit mused, stretching out on the branch so he could rest on his stomach and swing one of his legs in the air idly. Resting his chin on his folded hands, he watched as the riders grew closer and closer until he could count six riders in all. He expected them to ride past him, but instead they stopped once they saw the corpses he had left on the road. As he continued to watch, the riders dismounted and began to exam the bodies of the Dwarves and Orcs while muttering to each other in a tongue that he didn't speak, but recognized.

_Khuzdûl__. More Dwarves and I know who they're looking for_, he thought, sighing to himself softly as he sat up and swung his legs over the branch. Silently he pushed himself off the branch and dropped to the ground in a crouch that drew the attention of the Dwarves in the road. Before he even stood up straight, Bilbo found himself surrounded with various weapons pointed at him.

"Relax. I'm not your enemy," he said, holding his hands up to show that he was harmless. "You're Dwarves, yes? Most likely friends of those slain Dwarves over there, huh?"

"You're a Hobbit," stated one of the Dwarves, pushing back his brown hood back to reveal a mass of thick red hair and a beard so bushy and long that it reached his knees.

Bilbo raised one eyebrow at the remark. "What gave it away? My ears? Or my feet?"

Another Dwarf with a green cloak and a gold belt stepped closer until he towered over Bilbo. He wasn't very fazed though. He had lived among Men and Elves so he was quite used to being loomed over.

"What is a Hobbit doing here?" the Dwarf asked, looking down at Bilbo. He was an impressive example of his kind with wide shoulders and dense arms and a black beard that he kept tucked into his belt. The top of his head was, oddly enough, shaved clean and decorated with an assortment of tattoos. He had a large nose and thick brows and dark eyes that were narrowed on Bilbo.

"Saving Dwarves," he replied blandly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you looking for one? Perhaps one with long black hair and a misshapen twig for a shield?"

One of the Dwarves began to cough so violently into his hand that one of his comrades had to pound him on the back so he could breathe. Bilbo wondered fleetingly if perhaps he had a cold.

The Dwarf before him narrowed his eyes even further until they resembled slits of midnight in the lines of his tanned skin. "Tell me where he is, halfling, before I lose the patience I don't have."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "He's at my camp. He was stabbed by one of the Orcs and fell unconscious."

The Dwarf growled—honestly growled like a bear, oh the jokes he could make over that—and pushed past him without another word. The other five quickly followed and he couldn't help but roll his eyes again.

_Dwarves. Always so dramatic._

He followed the pack of Dwarves into the forest and, when they were about to march past where he had hidden their friend, called out to them to stop. They did and turned to stare at him some more as he calmly walked to the small pit and brushed away the leaves until the Dwarf was visible.

"What is he doing in a ditch?!" squawked the redhead who had spoken earlier.

"I was hiding him incase more trouble showed up," he replied, glancing at the Dwarves over his shoulder to them a judging look. "How else do you expect me to keep him safe?"

The Dwarf with dark eyes marched over and kneeled down next to them. Bilbo wordlessly stepped back and allowed the stranger to examine his friend with shaky hands and a clenched jaw. Watching the Dwarf, he felt sympathy bloom in his heart for the obvious worry and concern the other had for his friend. Waiting to find out if someone you loved was alive or dead was a horrible experience no matter how strong you thought you were.

"I tended to his injuries the best I could, but you really should get him to a healer as soon as possible," he said quietly, watching the Dwarf.

The stranger's head snapped up and he stared at Bilbo for a moment before giving a jerky nod. He yelled something in his native tongue to the others, and soon they were lifting the unconscious Dwarf and gently carrying him back to the ponies. Bilbo watched them go before looking up to the tall Dwarf that still lingered at his side.

"Thank you for saving him," the Dwarf rumbled in his deep voice. "What you have done here tonight… there are no words to describe our gratitude."

Bilbo shrugged and absently rubbed his foot against the back of his calf. "I hate Orcs and he needed help. It was the only possible course of action."

"Still, you have my gratitude. If there ever comes a day you need help, I promise to provide it," the Dwarf vowed, bracing a fist over his heart and bowing at the waist to the Hobbit. "Simply come to Erebor and ask for Dwalin, son of Fundin."

"Dwalin," he repeated, testing the strange name out on his tongue. "Well it was nice to meet you, Dwalin, but I'm afraid you don't need to promise such a debt. I don't help people because I want something in return. I do it because it is the right thing to do."

Dwalin tilted his head slightly and stared at him with an expression Bilbo could not place. "You truly believe that?"

"I would not have said it if I didn't mean it," he pointed out, frowning. "Do Dwarves do that? Say things they don't mean?"

"Depends on the Dwarf," replied Dwalin, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but just couldn't remember how. "What is a Hobbit doing out here? I thought you folk traveled in clans."

"I'm traveling alone on private business," Bilbo answered vaguely as he made a point of looking in the direction that the other Dwarves had walked off in. "Shouldn't you be leaving? Your comrade still needs aid."

The mighty Dwarf's face twisted into a frown once more, and he gave Bilbo one last bow before finally departing. He watched the strange Dwarf go and wondered, idly, if he would ever see the strange Dwarves again.

_Highly unlikely_, Bilbo thought to himself, shaking his head and returning to his small camp for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>Dale was a colorful city filled with equally colorful people of all types. It was a trading town that survived through their merchants and alliances with the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood. Out of all the cities of Men that he had seen, Dale was easily one of Bilbo's favorites. However, though it was a lovely town with cheerful people always looking to make new friends and business ventures, it was also very lacking in warriors. Dale had an army of their own, of course, but they relied mostly on the protection of their much more powerful neighbors. Bilbo knew with one look that he would not find the soldiers he needed there.<p>

But beyond Dale, in a mountain so large that it could be seen from the Misty Mountains, laid the city of Erebor. Bilbo had never lived in Erebor though he had lived next to it for a season while working in Dale. He had encountered a few Dwarves from the mountain during that time, but had never been to see the city himself. So when he finally entered the great city for the first time in his life, he was unprepared for the sight before him.

Erebor… Erebor was a _marvel_. Carved out of the very stone of the mountain, it was a masterpiece of architect and devotion that he had never seen anywhere else in the world. It was nothing like the homes of the Elves, who built their cities within nature as if they were one and the same. It was nothing like the towns of Men, who took what they wanted without regard and built whatever their minds dreamed up. No, Erebor was a city made up of both and yet neither. It was a home chiseled out of the Lonely Mountain to create a vision that he could never think up in his wildest dreams. It was a city that lived within the heart of the mountain, but it existed on its own terms.

It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful city Bilbo had ever seen in his life.

Unfortunately, it was also a _large_ city. The moment he stepped through the gates he found himself overwhelmed by Dwarves of every class moving about their business. Merchants and warriors, nobles and commoners; they all mingled about talking and arguing and laughing and yelling. Each Dwarf was dressed fetchingly either in silk robes that were dyed in bright colors or armor crafted from bright metals that he could only guess at. Even the more common Dwarves paraded about in stylish clothes cut in unique patterns with copper and iron jewelry adorning their hair. He had never seen such a richly crafted kingdom before! The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, the only Dwarves he had ever really interacted with, were rougher folk who lived practically. They never displayed their finery in such an obvious manner nor did they live in a mountain so great and wealthy. Overwhelmed by it all, Bilbo could only stand there and stare at it all in amazement.

He soon realized what a mistake _that_ was when he felt someone cut the strap of his coin purse from his belt.

"Hey!" he yelled, jerking around on instinct to catch the thief. Behind him stood a Dwarf with hair the color of persimmon that was braided to resemble a _star_—an actual _star_; these Dwarves clearly had too much time on their hands—who winked at him before disappearing into the crowd. Bilbo gaped for a moment before taking off after the thief who had just high jacked his money.

The thief was quick and moved through the crowds with ease that spoke of years of experience. He also, unfortunately, had the advantage of being taller and familiar with the city. But Bilbo was stubborn and knew for a fact that _he_ was faster than the Dwarf. He had spent his whole life running—away from danger, into danger, from one home to another—and it had finally paid off. He sprinted after the thief; slipping around and through the gaps in the crowds of Dwarves as he slowly gained ground. Once he finally caught up to the Dwarf, he lowered himself into a crouch and then leaped onto the Dwarf in one bound.

Bilbo and the Dwarf hit the hard ground together in a tangle of limbs. Bilbo felt something in his elbow and knee crack, but ignored it in favor of rolling them over so he had the Dwarf pinned with his knife against the thief's throat. He glared down at the gasping thief and leaned his weight forward so he could hold the Dwarf's midsection down better with his knees.

"Thief," he hissed, pressing his knife in warning against the pale skin of the Dwarf's neck. "You'll pay for stealing from me. I'm turning you into the authorities over this."

The Dwarf simply stared up at him with wide eyes. "Y-You… You caught me…"

The Hobbit snorted. "Obviously."

"W-What is wrong with you?!" the thief snapped, his face shifting into a glare. "You're not supposed to chase me and tackle me!"

"Really? And what do you suggest I do? Let you run off with my money?" Bilbo asked with mocking sweetness.

"It would be the polite thing to do," the Dwarf agreed, nodding his head slightly and then wincing as the blade dug into his skin.

Bilbo bit his lower lip to keep from smiling at the joke. Now was not the time to be charmed by his mugger. "I'm turning you into the authorities. Get up—"

"What is going on here?!" a deep voice yelled in Westron behind him. Bilbo had only a moment to wince at the harsh noise against his sensitive ears before he found himself hauled off the thief. He dangled in the air and found himself staring at a large Dwarf dressed in iron armor. Two more stood behind him in the same armor and helmets that covered their faces from view.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" growled the Dwarf holding him up in the air like a misbehaving kitten. One of his companions yanked the thief up and wrapped a hand around his bicep to keep him from bolting.

Bilbo pointed at the thief and looked to the Dwarf holding him. "He stole my money!"

"Lies. I did nothing of the sort," the thief lied, wrinkling his nose at the Hobbit. He then smirked slightly and leaned closer to the Dwarf holding him and added, "I did cop a feel though. That's why he chased me down and jumped on me. Wanted to finish what I started."

"Liar! I would never touch a worm like you!"

"That's not what you were whispering to me a few minutes ago…"

"You lying, miserable, Elf-like—"

"Enough!" interrupted the Dwarf in armor before Bilbo could finish his curse. From the highly offended expression the thief was wearing though, he figured the Dwarf got the gist of it.

"Enough," repeated the armed Dwarf as he settled Bilbo to the floor but didn't release his collar. "I don't care who started what. You're _both_ under arrest for disturbing the merchants and causing a scene!"

Bilbo felt the ground crumble beneath him. "What?! But I didn't do anything wrong—!"

The Dwarf ignored the Hobbit and threw him to his free companion without care. "Save your whining for your trial. You're going to prison for now."

* * *

><p>"This," the thieving Dwarf declared later after they were both thrown into separate cells across from one another, "is all your fault."<p>

Bilbo looked up from the lock he was examining to glare at the Dwarf leaning against his bars with his arms hanging through the gaps. "Excuse me? _You_ are the one who robbed _me_!"

"You were standing in the middle of the gates, gawking, with your mouth hanging open. It was a clear invitation to anyone that you wanted your coin purse taken," the thief explained in the same tone an adult would use on a child. "You can't blame me for taking you up on that offer."

Bilbo felt his irritation deepen. "You… You are quite possibly the most ridiculous Dwarf I have ever met!"

"That could be true," the thief agreed, nodding his head as the corner of his lips pulled back into a smirk. "I know I'm most certainly the most handsome one you'll ever meet."

Bilbo squinted and took in the thief. Ignoring his ridiculous hairstyle and braided eyebrows, he realized that the thief _could_ pass as attractive even by his Hobbit standards. The Dwarf had a large nose and broad shoulders and light green eyes that reminded him of the leaves in summer when the sunlight hit them. His waist and hips were a bit too lean for his taste, but he had freckles and long fingers and Bilbo could admit that those were traits he had always admired.

Not that Bilbo was about to admit _that_ to the Dwarf.

"I like your beard," he admitted, making the thief smirk until he added, "is it real?"

The thief's smirk transformed into a scowl. "What? What kind of question is _that_?"

"What? I'm simply asking if your beard is fake like those animal skins that Men sometimes wear on their heads," the Hobbit explained, deliberately widening his eyes. "I mean, it certainly looks ragged and dirty enough to pass as the fur of a fox or a weasel or maybe even a squirrel…"

The offended Dwarf stared at him for a moment before his scowl turned into a dropped jaw and his eyes went wide. "You… You're lying!"

"And? What are you going to do about it?" he retorted, sticking his tongue out at the other. "We're already in prison, fool."

The thief simply kept staring at him. "What's your name?"

The Hobbit blinked, taken back by the sudden question. "Bilbo Baggins. You?"

"Nori, son of Riika," the Dwarf replied, still staring at him with a look he could not place.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that a female name? I thought Dwarves took on the name of their same-sex parent."

"Aye, but I'm a bastard. No da to claim parentage to," Nori replied simply, looking unbothered by his status as a bastard son.

"Oh. Is that why you're a thief?"

Nori raised one of his brows that were braided up into his hair. "What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, in the cities of Men, bastard children are usually shunned and can only get work as pickpockets or ladies of the night," he explained. "Does it not work the same here?"

The Dwarf snorted. "I suppose for the nobles there might be a scandal if a bastard is born, but no one cares among the lower classes. Children are precious and few so no one is going to deny you work just 'cuz your ma can't recall who she spent the night with."

"Oh." Bilbo wiggled his toes as he thought over that new bit of information. Hobbits didn't have social classes or a caste system like other races, so it was always difficult for him to understand the idea of birth dictating your place in life. For Hobbits, it was your character and actions that made a name for you; not who your parents were or your family name.

"You Dwarves are very strange," he decided, nodding his head, "but at least you're not as bad as Men."

"What about Elves?" the thief asked, wagging his ridiculous brows.

"Depends on the Elves," he replied, thinking over the question. "The Elves of Rivendell are acceptable but the others are too involved in their trees and themselves. I don't like them very much."

Nori snorted before dissolving into a chuckle. "You're funny. What is a funny little Hobbit doing here in the Lonely Mountain?"

Bilbo felt his good humor die as he recalled his mission that was now compromised. Sighing, he leaned against the wall behind him and slid down until he hit the floor. "I came here looking for help. Thanks to you, now I'm not sure I'll be able to complete that task."

"What do you need help for?" the Dwarf asked, tilting his head to the side.

He glanced at the thief and leaned his head to the side against the bars of his cell. "What do you know about my people?"

"You're nomads, right?" Nori said, scratching his cheek. "I've seen your kind in the cities of Men and in Ered Luin. But I didn't know you traveled so far out east. I've never seen a Hobbit in Erebor before."

"We go wherever there is work and safety," he explained quietly. "But yes, we usually stick closer to the west. It's where our home is…"

"Your home?"

"The Shire," he said, and the name tasted bittersweet on his lips. "That was our land, our kingdom, before it was taken by the dread dragon Smaug a hundred years ago."

Nori's frown deepened. "I didn't know that such a thing had happened to the Hobbits. Why do your people not fight to take it back?"

"We are not built for war," he explained, turning his head slightly to meet the thief's eyes through the bars. "We would never survive alone against such a creature like Smaug. That is why I came here; to buy soldiers that will help us reclaim the Shire."

"Then the money I took from you…"

"Was part of it but not all of it," he replied, nodding his head. "The rest of it is in my bag that the guards confiscated."

Nori did not move for a long time. As Bilbo watched, a shadow fell over his green eyes until they resembled the murky bottom of a swamp. It was the only reaction the Dwarf allowed himself to show, and he mentally applauded the thief for his self-control. That was quite a feat for one whose race was known for their intense emotions and brutal honesty.

"I'm not angry at you," Bilbo added, feeling a stab of sympathy for the thief. "I was at first but not anymore. Now I'm just worried that I won't get the money back. Do you think the guards will return it to me later?"

Nori swallowed and shrugged one of his shoulders as he refused to meet the Hobbit's eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen to us now."

Bilbo sighed and banged his head back against the cold stone walls. "I was afraid of that."


	3. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **T**hree

* * *

><p>Bilbo awoke to the sound of his cell door being jerked open.<p>

"Let's go, halfling," ordered the guard as he lifted the dazed Hobbit to his feet and marched him out of the cell. Behind him Nori was also being dragged out of his cell by another guard. Together they were marched down a long hall built of stone and into a room where a positively ancient looking Dwarf sat behind a large marble desk piled with books and parchments.

The Dwarf looked over his silver framed spectacles as the two criminals were forced before him. "Are these the two from the disturbance in the Copper District?" he asked with a deep voice that reminded Bilbo of a bear.

"Aye, sir, these are the ones," replied one of the guards who was holding Nori by the bicep.

The older Dwarf nodded as he studied the two prisoners. Bilbo studied him in return and tried his best to take in every detail. He was a very old Dwarf with skin as brown as tree bark and as wrinkled as a piece of parchment. His hair was thick and white and braided into tight and tiny little braids against his skull before being gathered at the back of his head in a high ponytail where the rest of the braids could fall down his back. In contrast to his elaborate hairstyle, his long beard was set in a single, thick braid that fell to his knees like bound rope. His eyes were pure black and his nose large and forehead wide, and there was something altogether familiar about him that Bilbo just could not place.

"What is a halfling doing here?" the Dwarf finally asked, meeting Bilbo's eyes and holding his stare without flinching. "Your kind do not usually wander so far past the Misty Mountains."

"My kind go where we must to survive," he returned evenly, still studying the Dwarf and taking note of the mole under his left eye and an old scar across his sharp cheekbone.

The old Dwarf hummed and switched his gaze to the bored looking Nori. "I thought I told you to behave yourself, Nori."

"And I thought I told you not to ask for the impossible, Fundin," the thief replied, studying his nails and blatantly ignoring the elder male.

Fundin 'tsked' and leaned back into his seat. "Insolent little brat. I should have you whipped and your beard shaved off."

Bilbo gasped in shock at the cruel threat but Nori simply laughed as if it was the greatest joke he had ever heard.

"We both know that is beyond your power," the thief said, bearing his teeth in a smile that looked more mean than friendly. "You are no longer the Minister of War, remember? Or did you forget that in your old age?"

In response to his words, the guard holding Nori smacked him on the back of the head. The thief hissed and flinched but didn't fall from the hard blow. He growled something in Khuzdûl that had the guard rearing up to smack him again, only to be stopped by a quiet command from Fundin.

"Enough," ordered the old Dwarf, leveling a glare on his subordinate. "We do not needlessly beat our prisoners. Understand?"

The guard bowed his head in acknowledgment and replied in low Khuzdûl.

"Good." Fundin nodded and turned his dark eyes back to Bilbo. "Now, halfling, I would like to hear why you and this fool here were causing such a ruckus in the Ebony District. I have two different stories of the event and I would like to find out which one is true."

"I stole his money," Nori replied before Bilbo could get a chance to answer. "I stole it and took off and he tracked me down in order to get it back. He tackled me and we argued and that's when the guards arrested us."

Bilbo turned to stare at the Dwarf at his side with his jaw hanging open. Nori ignored him though and simply stared back at Fundin. In return, the old Dwarf raised one eyebrow in obvious surprise.

"Is this true, halfling?" asked Fundin, switching his gaze to Bilbo.

He nodded slowly; still staring at the thief who was in turn staring at the far wall with a clenched jaw. "Y-Yes…"

"Then we have made an error in arresting you," Fundin declared, looking down to a piece of parchment and stamping it with a seal. "You are free to go. The guard will return your possessions and see you out. Good day."

The guard behind him began to drag him out but Bilbo resisted. "Wait, what about Nori? What's going to happen to him?"

"Never mind about me," Nori drawled, still refusing to look at him. "Just go with the guard, Hobbit."

Fundin nodded in agreement. "His fate is of no concern of yours."

Bilbo scoffed and twisted his arm back as the guard continued to try and drag him out. "Like hell it's not! He stole from _me_ so his fate is a very big concern of mine!"

Fundin arched a white brow again as the other guards scowled at his rude tone. "Persistent aren't you?" mused the old Dwarf softly. "Very well. Since this is his fourth offense, he is to pay four hundred coins or go to prison for the next four seasons."

The Hobbit hissed and looked to Nori, whose shoulders had grown tense. "Can you… Can you pay that?"

"Of course not. You think I robbed you for fun?" the thief muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in a clearly defensive move.

Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat as his mind raced for an answer. Even though Nori had committed a crime, he couldn't leave the Dwarf behind to such a fate. Not when he knew better than anyone in the room _why_ Nori did what he did.

_Sorry uncle but I have to do what is right!_

"T-Then I'll pay it! I'll pay his due!" he said before the guard could manage to drag him through the door.

At his proclamation, Fundin's eyes widened behind his spectacles while Nori's head snapped around to face him. Even the guards turned to stare at him with obvious surprise at his offer.

"What?!" squawked the thief.

"Do you understand what you are asking?" questioned Fundin, staring at him without blinking over the rim of his glasses.

Bilbo raised his chin stubbornly. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Are you sure? Because I don't think you do," pushed the Dwarf.

"I understand, damnit! I'm poor, not dumb!" he snapped back, glaring at the older male.

Fundin continued to stare at him with his jet black eyes. He couldn't read what the Dwarf was thinking, but the corner of his mouth was curled up slightly like he wanted to smile but was resisting. Bilbo was again struck by the familiarity of the Dwarf but still couldn't place why.

"Very well. You may pay his bail," the grizzled old Dwarf finally said. "Tróstur, collect his things and then take him to Hethin to fill out the paperwork and pay the fine."

The guard behind Bilbo nodded and then gently steered the Hobbit out the door. Bilbo gave one last look to Fundin—who was still watching him with his sharp eyes and almost-smile—and then to Nori—who looked like Bilbo had just brought his dead puppy back to life—before he was finally dragged out of the room for good.

* * *

><p>It took an hour in all to collect his things, fill out the paperwork, and count out the gold coins needed. Bilbo found it all dreadfully boring and a bit painful to watch all that gold be taken away. The Dwarf who dealt with him was patient and polite though, and even mentioned that he should consider exchanging his coins for Erebor currency.<p>

"We'll take your gold and silver either way," the Dwarf added as he examined a coin from Gondor with a critical eye, "and melt it down to make into our own coins, but it will be easier just to use our money."

"Will anyone turn me away for using the money of Men and Elves?" Bilbo questioned with a frown.

The Dwarf scowled a bit but shook his head. "No, we'll accept it but the price might change depending on the metals used in the coins. The Men of Rohan like to add copper to their coins so they generally are worth less here than there. And the Elves like to mix iron and silver together because they're a bunch of fools who shouldn't be allowed near metals to begin with."

He snorted and tried not to laugh. "I understand. I'll get some Erebor coins as soon as possible."

Once the paperwork and money matters had been settled, Bilbo was finally allowed the leave the jailhouse. However the moment he stepped out of the building, he found himself captured and being dragged off yet again. The only difference this time was that it was a thief dragging him off and not a guard.

Nori dragged him into a small alcove between the jailhouse and another building before rounding on him with a fierce snarl on his face. "Why did you pay my bail? It was none of your concern!" he snapped, green eyes flashing under the torchlight above them.

Bilbo snorted and just stared back at him steadily. "Why did you tell the truth? My fate was certainly none of _your _concern."

The thief flinched. "I…"

"You could have lied and blamed everything on me," the Hobbit continued, never breaking his gaze with the Dwarf, "but you didn't. You took the blame because it was the right thing to do. Just like bailing you out was the right thing to do."

Nori scowled but didn't attempt to argue his point. "What about your people? They sent you here expecting you to get them help!" he said instead, trying a different tactic. "You can't do that now that you've wasted your money on me!"

He nodded in agreement. "I know. I need to work now to earn back what I spent. But they would understand why I did it. We Hobbits may have lost our home, but we haven't lost our integrity."

The Dwarf still didn't look very pleased by his words. "Where are you planning to go now?"

"The cheapest inn I can find. Do you know of one?"

"Yes, and you'll most likely end up robbed either by the owner or a mugger," Nori muttered, rubbing his jaw. "No, you'll stay my brothers and me while you look for work."

Bilbo frowned and bit his lower lip. "Um, not to be rude or anything, but shouldn't you check with them first?"

The thief scoffed and rolled his eyes. "They won't mind. Dori will feel obligated once he finds out what you did for me, and Ori will be thrilled to meet someone other than a Dwarf or Man."

Bilbo leaned back on his heels and studied the Dwarf. Though it wasn't in his nature to go along with strangers, something in his gut was telling him that he could trust Nori. The Dwarf was a thief and a liar and obviously had a crooked past, but he didn't seem like the bad sort. Not when he took responsibility for his crime in order to get Bilbo out of jail. Someone without morals would never do that for a stranger.

"You know, you like to come off as aloof and cold, but I can tell that you're actually a nice person," he commented, smiling at the thief.

"I-I'm not nice!" Nori sputtered, his cheeks turning a shade of pink that clashed horribly with his hair color.

"You're blushing," he revealed with glee.

Nori's coloring descended into shades of red never seen before. "Shut up!"

* * *

><p>Nori seemed to live in one of the outer districts that sat close to the gates of the city. It was called the Tin District and it was one of the seven outer districts that acted as pillars for the rest of the city. It also housed much of the lower class of Dwarves.<p>

"Above us are the six districts that house the guilds of the city. Then built on top of that are the five districts of the armies," the thief explained as he led Bilbo through the busy streets. "Above them are the four districts of the lesser nobles while the third districts hold the higher ranking nobles and important places that no one really cares about. The second district holds the palace, the throne room, and the grand hall. Finally at the very top sits the imperial treasury of Erebor."

"What about below? Don't you dig beneath the mountain?" the Hobbit wondered as he tried his best not to get his toes stomped on by passing Dwarves.

"Of course we do. Where do you think we got all this wealth?" Nori scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Below us are the mines and tombs and the main prison. Nothing very interesting."

Bilbo disagreed but he didn't say anything. "What are the seven districts called?"

"Tin, Copper, Billon, Brass, Lead, Aluminum, Indium," the Dwarf listed easily as he sidestepped a group of giggling children chasing each other. "The six districts above us are called Ebony, Garnet, Jasper, Amber, Quartz, and Malachite."

"I'm sensing a theme here," he commented dryly.

Nori smirked and nodded. "Yes, we Dwarves are not subtle. The higher you get, the more important the rank. Naturally we show that through the names."

"Does that mean the first level is named Mithril?"

"Correct. The second is called Diamond and Electrum. Third level Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald. The fourth Opal, Pearl, Beryl, and Jade. The fifth level Iron, Steel, Silver, Gold, and Bronze."

"Why is the second level the only one named after both a metal and a gem?" he wondered, raising his brows.

"Because Durin's Sons are meant to be both," the thief answered vaguely as they came to a stop in front of a modest home built of the same dark blue stone as the rest of the district. Nori walked up to the door and unlocked it and waved for Bilbo to follow him into the building.

Inside the home, Bilbo found it to be simple but warm and lovingly decorated with sketches of various Dwarves and places. There was a large fireplace to one side and what looked like a kitchen area complete with a small table where a young Dwarf sat reading. At their entrance, the new Dwarf looked up and went wide eyed before pointing one slender finger at Nori.

"Dori is angry with you," the young Dwarf declared.

Nori scoffed as he began to pull off his coat. "Dori is _always_ angry with me. It's nothing new."

"Yes, but this time he's angry _worried_," the other disputed before he noticed Bilbo lingering at the door. "Who is this?"

"My newest headache," replied Nori as he stalked off further into the home. "Keep him entertained for the moment, will ya? I need to talk to dear big brother."

The younger Dwarf frowned slightly at Nori's departing back but still stood up to introduce himself. "Hullo. I'm Ori, son of Rikka. I'm Nori's younger brother," the newcomer said, obviously studying Bilbo with his wide green eyes. "Are you one of Nori's… friends?"

Bilbo shook his head as he also studied the Dwarf before him. Now that he was closer, he could see the resemblance between Nori and Ori in their green eyes and jaw line. They even shared the same freckles dusted across their nose and cheeks. "Nope. I'm Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit your brother robbed and the one who bailed him out of jail."

Ori blanched. "What?!"

"It's a long story," he explained, waving an idle hand. "The idea is a lot more interesting than the actual details."

Ori frowned and drew back slightly; clearly unsure what to make of the Hobbit. The Dwarf was obviously a lot younger than him with rounder features and the barest hint of facial hair on his chin and jaw. His hair was a few shades darker than Nori's, but just as thick and abundant and pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. He was not as tall as his brother nor were his shoulders as wide, but he possessed the same long arms and legs that hinted at the same frame he would eventually grow into.

"—stop walking away from me!"

Bilbo and Ori turned as one as an older and robust Dwarf came stomping into the room with a scowling Nori behind him. He was the same height as Nori with the same broad shoulders but his limbs were thicker and wider than the thief. His silver hair was pulled back into the most intricate set of braids that Bilbo had ever seen on anyone. He had a large nose and same cut to his jaw as his siblings and eyes the color of jade. When those green eyes fell on Bilbo, he stopped short and gasped.

"Oh! Why didn't you tell me we have a guest?" he asked Nori, shooting the other Dwarf a small glare.

Nori gave him an exasperated look. "I tried to but you kept talking over me like—"

"Ori, go put on some tea," the older Dwarf ordered, making a shooing gesture with one hand. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm Dori, son of Riika, and Nori's elder brother."

The Hobbit nodded slowly. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Bilbo Baggins, Nori's newest headache."

"Newest headache?" Dori repeated, shooting another small glare at his brother. "What is he talking about? Nori, what have you been saying to him?"

Nori sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you would let me _talk_, then I can explain what's happened."

"I thought you got arrested for robbing Master Baggins?" Ori wondered as he filled an iron kettle with water from a nearby pump.

Dori's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "WHAT?!"

"What did you tell him?" Nori demanded from Bilbo, giving him a dirty look.

Bilbo widened his eyes deliberately in a move that he **knew** made him look innocent and sweet. "The truth. Why? Were you planning to lie? Because I don't think that would be very smart."

"No, it wouldn't," Dori growled, looming over his younger brother.

"But I don't understand why you would bail my brother out of jail if he robbed you," Ori added as he set the kettle to boil over the fire. He looked altogether calm over the fact that one of his brothers had been arrested while the other was plotting out a murder with his eyes alone. "Wouldn't it be more sensible to leave him in jail?"

"Wait, you bailed him out?" Dori repeated, cutting into the conversation yet again. Bilbo was beginning to understand Nori's exasperation. "Why?"

"He told the guards the truth and then took responsibility for his actions," the Hobbit explained simply, shrugging. "It was only fair that I bail him out. Leaving him to rot in prison for four seasons wasn't right."

Dori blinked and then said something in Khuzdûl to Nori. The younger Dwarf replied in kind before being interrupted yet again by his older brother. Next Ori spoke up in their mother tongue to which Nori nodded and began speaking once more in their guttural language. When he was finally done speaking, all three brothers turned as one to stare at the Hobbit with their piercing green eyes.

_Creepy_, he thought to himself, scratching the back of his knee with his bare toes. Though their eye colors were different shades of green, they were all shaped the same and possessed the same intensity. _Veeerrry creepy._

"Master Baggins, you have my thanks for helping my simpleton of a brother," Dori said in Common, shooting a side glare at said brother. "You may stay with us for as long as you need."

Bilbo blinked a few times, unsure what to make of the Dwarf's words. "Uhm, you're welcome. It was the least I could do after he got me out of jail. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home. I promise not to be a burden."

Dori's eyes widened before they melted like butter sitting in the sun. Bilbo decided that it was a rather disturbing look to have directed at him.

"You are not a burden on us," the oldest brother reassured in a gentle tone that one would use on terrified children. "Ori, would you mind sharing your room with Master Baggins?"

Ori shrugged. "Sure. I don't mind."

"Wonderful. Please show him where he can put his things," Dori requested, shifting his gaze back to Nori. "Your brother and I need to have a… private discussion."

In reply, Nori made a face at him but didn't argue with his elder sibling.

Ori nodded and jerked his chin to the door. "Come along, Master Baggins. My room is right through here."

Bilbo followed the young Dwarf further into the home and into a small hall that led to two doors. Ori opened the one to the far right and walked in with the Hobbit following. Inside was a small room with a single bed, a small table, and a bookcase that was crammed full of books. Bilbo immediately zoned in on the books and picked one out without any shame.

"Wow, this is amazing," he said, skimming through the text of Khuzdûl gently. "Have you read them all?"

Ori nodded slowly as he watched the Hobbit with a strange look on his face. "Yes, of course. Do you… Do you like books too?"

"I _love_ to read," Bilbo said with genuine passion. He rubbed the corner of a paper lovingly between his fingers and marveled over how smooth and thick it was. "My father used to tell me stories when we traveled and my mother always helped me with my letters. When I grew older, I even began to steal some books just to have something to read. Nothing very valuable, of course, but still costly enough that I couldn't afford them. I still have most of them."

"Oh." Ori pursued his lips; looking unsure what to make of Bilbo's words. He ignored the Dwarf and studied the alien letters before him carefully. He couldn't read a word of it, of course, but he did so enjoy studying the arches and slashes of the letters. Language—in any form—had always fascinated him. In another lifetime, he was sure he would have been a scribe or at a writer who translated stories and poems into other languages. Once of his fondest memories was learning Sindarin from an Elf he had met in Lothlórien.

"I have some books in Westron if you would like to read one," offered Ori.

He looked up and blinked rapidly in surprise. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

The young Dwarf shook his head as a small smile tugged at his lips. "No, I wouldn't mind. I love to read too and I rarely get to share my books with others. Not many people here care about it in these parts."

He nodded in understanding. Learning to read and write tended to take a backseat to more important matters like finding food or shelter. "I would love to read one of your books. In turn, you can read some of mind if you like. Most of them are written by Men or Elves though…"

Ori's face lit up like a firework in the night sky. "I would love to read one of your books! I rarely get a chance to read the work of Men or Elves! Which city did you get them from? Are they very different from each other? Are they written in the same style? Which one do you like best?"

Bilbo was a bit taken back by the sudden storm of questions but he got over it quickly enough. Opening his pack, he dug out some of his most beloved stories and allowed the young Dwarf to look through them. "Most of them are based on legends but I have a few on language and history. Those are a bit harder to get so I don't have as many as I would like."

Ori shook his head fiercely; knocking some of his thick hair loose from its knot and into his round face. "No, no I love it! Most of the time I have to read books on history and tradition and culture; I rarely get a chance to read simple stories. This will be a nice change."

"Why do you read so many books? Are you a scribe?" he wondered as he made himself comfortable on the ground with his companion and their books.

"Uh-huh. I'm an apprentice at the moment but I'll become a journeyman this season if I pass the test," the young Dwarf explained as he flipped through one of Bilbo's books.

Bilbo felt a sting of envy that he quickly pushed away. He had no right to be jealous of Ori. It was hardly his fault that the Hobbit wasn't able to become a scribe. "Good for you. Maybe reading some foreign books will give you an edge in the test."

Ori gave him a small crooked smile that reminded him of Nori. "Maybe. They do like us to be well-rounded on all subjects. I've tried my best to get books on other races and places but they can be… expensive."

He nodded in understanding. "Is there any particular subject they want you to be skilled in? Or any subject that is rare and lacking in information? Because I might have a book on it that could help you."

The young Dwarf seemed to think hard for a moment as he traced the worn leather cover of one of the books. "I suppose anything on Elves would give me an edge. Our strained relations with them makes it hard to get the correct information I need. It doesn't help either that most of the history we share with them has been changed or lost."

"You wouldn't get marked off for that? I know how some of you Dwarves feel about Elves," he questioned, raising his brows.

"I don't think so. I'd be called names and mocked but the masters would see my knowledge as a gain for them," Ori replied, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. "They need information on Elves, you see, but they don't want to actually go out and learn it themselves. Having someone else do that for them would be a great relief and advantage."

Bilbo grinned. "Perfect! Then I can teach you everything I know about them."

Ori blinked a few times as he stared at the Hobbit. "Do you know a lot about Elves?"

"Somewhat. I've lived among them for most of my life," he explained, rubbing his ankle with his thumb. "I've mostly lived in Rivendell but I've stayed in Lothlórien and Mirkwood a few times. Out of all of them I like Rivendell the best since Lord Elrond is so kind and welcoming. Lady Galadriel is kind too, of course, but she's also a bit scary. She's just so beautiful and powerful that it hurts to look at her sometimes. The Elvenking is too cold for me to like. He's also very dramatic and likes to whip his cloak around like he's putting on a performance or something. I think he should have been a bard instead of a king."

Ori stared at him for a moment longer before breaking out into laughter. "Y-You… You're really honest!"

"Why would I lie when the truth is so much more interesting?" he replied, smirking as he watched the younger Dwarf regain control of himself. "I only lie if I have to but most of the time I don't have to."

"I'll keep that in mind," the scribe-in-training giggled. "Y-You know a lot about Elves though. Would you really teach me what you know?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't intend to," the Hobbit said, rolling his eyes. "I can even teach you to speak Sindarin if you like. I'm not so good at reading it and writing it though so we'd be better off skipping that."

Ori's round eyes grew wider. "Wow, you can speak Sindarin? I've never met anyone who could do that. I think the royal family are the only Dwarves that can speak it here."

"It's a complicated language to learn but I think you'll do fine. You already speak two languages," Bilbo pointed out, leaning back on his hands. "Does that sound fair?"

"It sounds more than fair. I don't know how I can repay you for doing this for me," Ori said, his voice softening a fraction.

Bilbo scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You and your brothers are letting me stay in your home. Sharing my knowledge is the least I can do. Now shall we get started? It's not like I have anything better to do at the moment."

Ori studied him for a moment with his light green eyes before nodding firmly. "Yes, please. Teach me everything you know."


	4. Act I: The Nomad - Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) **J.R.R. Tolkien**.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>ct **I**: The **N**omad

**C**hapter **F**our

* * *

><p>Bilbo spent the next few hours with Ori going over the many misinterpretations that Dwarves believed about Elves. Shockingly, not everything Ori knew of Elves was complete bullshit, and they were able to get through the list fairly quickly. Once done they agreed to take a break and returned to the kitchen where they had left Dori and Nori to their private conversation.<p>

"Still alive then?" Ori commented when he spotted Nori sitting at the table with Dori. On the table between them was a rainbow mess of yarns and threads that seemed to have no end or beginning.

Nori grunted as he methodically unwound a bright green thread from a maroon piece. Across from him, Dori looked up from his own pile of blue string and gave them both a wide smile.

"Finally decided to join us then? Wonderful. Master Baggins, are you hungry? Would you care for something to eat? Perhaps some tea?" the Dwarf asked, setting down his pile of yarn.

"I won't say no to a cup of tea," Bilbo admitted as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "All that talking has made my throat dry."

"Bilbo is helping me prepare for my exam by teaching me about Elves," Ori added as he moved to help his elder brother with the tea. "He's lived with them so he knows their customs quite well."

"How complicated is it to know that they eat leaves and listen to music that sounds like a harp being tuned?" Nori muttered to himself.

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he took a seat next to the thief. "They do more than just that you know."

Nori nodded without looking away from his task. "Right. They also write sad poems about their hair and the weather."

The Hobbit rolled his eyes yet again.

"So you said you need to look for work, right?" asked the thief as he began to unravel a yellow piece of yarn from a red piece.

He nodded as he watched the Dwarf's nimble fingers work. "Yes, I need to find work as soon as possible to make up for the money I spent."

"Do you have a craft then? Or any special skills?" Dori wondered.

Bilbo pursed his lips as he went over all the skills he had before settling on the one he used most often. "I suppose by trade I would be considered a healer."

Nori finally looked up from his bits of string to give the Hobbit next to him a judging look with his eyebrows. "How did someone like _you_ ever become a healer?"

Bilbo scowled, feeling greatly offended. He didn't appreciate being questioned by those ridiculous eyebrows. "I trained under an experienced healer _obviously_. How else would I become a healer?"

"I think what my foolish brother meant was _why _did you choose such a trade?" Dori clarified as he finished preparing the tea. "Becoming a healer takes a lot of time and dedication."

"Not to mention money," Nori added with a smirk.

"Well, my mother was forced to become a healer after we lost our home, and she trained me in her craft until her death," the Hobbit explained, beginning to unravel his own bit of brown and white knots. "After that I learned what I could from other healers I met wherever we were living at the time. My skills are decent enough but I'm sure I lack a lot of the basic skills as I was not correctly trained."

Dori nodded slowly as he and Ori brought the tea and cups to the table. "I see. Well, I know of a few clinics that you could apply at, but first you must pay a visit to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They will need to give you a pass that marks you as a visiting resident. With that you will be able to get a job."

Bilbo frowned and accepted the chipped clay mug handed to him by Ori. "That's strange. The Dwarves in the Blue Mountains never made me go through that."

"The Dwarves in the Blue Mountain are _colonies_ from different Dwarven Kingdoms. Erebor is the richest _nation_ among the Dwarven Kingdoms," Nori pointed out, rolling his eyes and stealing a cup from Dori. "Of course our laws and customs are a bit more complicated."

"Fine. Where would this ministry be then?" he snapped back.

"It's on the fourth level in the Jade District," Ori replied. "I can take you there tomorrow after breakfast."

"What about your training?"

"I don't start until noon so I have time," the Dwarf reassured, giving him a small smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Dori has to go to work though and Nori will just get in trouble if he goes up there."

"Hey!" protested the troublemaker. "I can go a day without making trouble!"

"It doesn't count if you don't get caught," Dori deadpanned, staring at his brother knowingly over the rim of his cup.

Ori and Bilbo snorted in unison.

"I didn't take you for a healer," Ori commented as Nori began to mutter threats and curses under his breath. "I thought maybe you were a scribe like me."

He shook his head and ignored the bitter sting to his heart. "No, no scribe. Just another healer."

"Well, a healer is a good trade. You're sure to find work in one of the clinics here," Dori assured, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his red mug. "And if not, we'll help you find a job in something else. You will get work one way or another."

Bilbo didn't doubt that. If there was one skill his people had perfected in their ruin, it was surviving in foreign and hostile lands.

* * *

><p>The next day Ori led Bilbo through the busy streets of Erebor and to a staircase so large and grand that it made the staircases in Rivendell look cheap and small. It was made up of a dark green stone that held veins of blue and white running through them. Sadly it was also a long staircase and so they spent more time than he cared for simply climbing it to get to the next level.<p>

When they finally arrived to the next level of the city, Ori led him through the maze of streets and to a building composed of a muggy red stone that he didn't recognize. It was guarded by two heavily armed Dwarves who eyed them up but didn't stop them from entering the abode. As they passed by, Bilbo realized that their armor and uniforms were different from the guards that had arrested him the day before.

_Perhaps they have different units of soldiers_, he mused, following Ori through the massive doors and up yet another flight of stairs. When they finally reached the top, they found themselves in a massive circular chamber that was filled with various Dwarves in fine clothes and equally fine furniture. None of them paid much attention to the two newcomers until Ori went up to one and quietly spoke to him in Khuzdûl.

The Dwarf—who was wearing far too much gold in Bilbo's opinion and smelt like a cross between wax and ale—sniffed and slowly looked Ori up and down. As he took in the scribe's patched clothes and worn boots, his sneer grew wider and uglier. Finally he spoke up in Khuzdûl and made a shooing gesture with one hand that had Ori's shoulders dropping.

Bilbo frowned as the young Dwarf walked back to him in a dejected slump. "What's wrong? What did he say to you?"

"He said that you need to make an appointment before they'll consider your request," Ori replied, avoiding Bilbo's eyes. "He also said that it will take a season or two before they get to you because they have more important matters to attend to."

Bilbo felt his jaw drop to his chest. "_What_?! A season or more? I don't have that kind of time! My clan is waiting on me!"

Ori flinched and seemed to sag into his frayed gray scarf. "I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"It's not your fault," he consoled as he leveled a glare at the pompous Dwarf standing a few feet away. "It's _his_."

Then, before Ori could reply, the Hobbit was marching over to the unknown Dwarf. He knew, vaguely, that he should calm down but his anxiety over making up the money he had spent was rising with every hour. He had come too far and was too close to finally achieving his task to be thwarted by one snobby Dwarf.

"Excuse me," he said, calling the Dwarf's attention and gaining a few others as well. "I'm here to apply for a pass that will allow me to work in the kingdom. Who do I speak to over this?"

The Dwarf raised a dark brow at him as his lips began to curl into yet another nasty sneer. "As I told your _friend_ a moment ago, your request will be heard after more important matters are seen to—"

"This _is_ important!" Bilbo snapped, interrupting the other without a care to how rude he was being. He was sure his father would be pulling his hair out if he could hear Bilbo now, but he was equally sure his mother would have been nodding in approval. Sometimes manners just had to be discarded.

"I need to get a job in order to survive here," he added before the Dwarf could speak up. "That may not seem very important to _you_, but it is certainly a big concern to my family and I!"

At that point, quite a few of the other occupants were staring at the two of them and whispering to each other. But Bilbo ignored them and watched as the Dwarf in front of him turned from red to maroon and then finally purple. None of the colors were very flattering against his green and yellow attire.

"You miserable little wretch—!" the Dwarf began to snarl before he was interrupted by a sharp soprano.

"What is going on in here?"

The Dwarf looked over Bilbo's head and turned so pale that the Hobbit was certain he was about to faint from blood loss. "Lady Súna!"

Bilbo turned around and found a newcomer gliding over to them. It was a female Dwarf wearing a dark red dress that hugged her frame tightly with silver lace. Like most of her kind, she was adorned in silver jewelry and rubies of various sizes. Bilbo found her—as he did with most females of any race—to be very beautiful even with the thick beard taking up most of her jaw. Her hair was a light shade of gold and braided back into thick loops on the back of her head before falling down her back like a curtain of morning sunshine. Her skin was a smooth ivory and her eyes wide and dark brown and framed by thick and long lashes. With her strong jaw and round hips, she was the perfect example of a classical Dwarven beauty.

She also, Bilbo noted, made every other Dwarf in the room tense up like a pack of rabbits when a wolf appeared.

The female looked over Bilbo in one quick glance before she turned to the Dwarf and began to speak in Khuzdûl. To his surprise, he recognized her rolling vowels and clipped accent as one from the Blue Mountains. In response to whatever she had said, the Snobby Dwarf pointed to Bilbo and replied in the same language before making a hand motion that he did not recognize. Once he was done speaking, the female Dwarf turned her dark eyes back to the Hobbit.

"Greetings," she said in clear Westron. "I am Súna, daughter of Sunnvá. I am in charge of the embassy here. Tell me, what brings a Hobbit to our fair city?"

"I came here to request a temporary pass in order to seek employment during my stay in Erebor," Bilbo replied, straightening his back and meeting the female's wide gaze straight on. Flinching back and cowering would not earn him any good points with a Dwarf; even more so if the one before him was from the Blue Mountains.

A finely trimmed brow went up a fraction. "I see. And your trade?"

"I'm a healer."

The brow went up another inch. "Indeed? Who trained you?"

"I've had many teachers," he replied honestly, thinking back over his life. "Hobbit, Man, Elf, Dwarf—I learned from whoever I could find."

The female's eyebrow remained slightly raised but the rest of her face remained perfectly blank. Keeping her eyes on Bilbo, she spoke again in Khuzdûl. He had no idea what she said, but it made the Snobby Dwarf's mouth drop open and his face turn a ruddy red. When he spoke up in what sounded almost like a whine, the female finally turned away from the Hobbit to stare at him. Bilbo could not imagine what the Dwarf read in her expressionless face, but whatever it was, it made him shut his mouth with a snap that echoed through the silent chamber.

With the Snobby Dwarf quiet, the female looked back to Bilbo and gave him a small nod. "Your request has been accepted. Motar here will help you with the contract and see to your pass. Please enjoy your stay in Erebor for as long as you wish."

Then in a whirl of red silk and gold braids, the beautiful Dwarf sashayed off without another word.

Bilbo watched her go in a daze as Ori snuck up to stand at his side. Around them the Dwarves began to whisper and mutter to one another while casting judging looks at the Hobbit, Snobby Dwarf, and the female that had wandered off. He wasn't quite sure what had happened but he had a feeling he had missed something rather important.

"What was that?" he asked out loud to Ori as the Snobby Dwarf—Motar—stomped off to a nearby stone shelf. Fleetingly, he hoped the Dwarf was getting him a contract and not a sword to gut him with.

"That was Lady Súna, the wife of Lord Glóin, who is a close cousin of the king," Ori answered quietly as he gave Bilbo a look he could not read. "She's also the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

"Oh. I guess that means she's very important then?"

"Well, she's married into the Line of Durin and she runs one of the most important branches in Erebor," Ori listed in exaggeration as he rolled his green eyes, "so yeah, just a little bit."

Bilbo sighed. "I was afraid of that."

* * *

><p>"So was that normal back there?" he asked later after the contract was signed and Bilbo was given a heavy marble block with runes engraved on it and a silky blue tassel attached to the end. It weighed as much as his sword and he had a feeling it would do just as much damage in a fight. Possibly even more if used correctly.<p>

"Was what normal?" Ori said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

Bilbo gestured behind him with one hand at the building they were walking away from. "That, that whole female Dwarf in charge thing. I've never seen a female in charge of something so important. Is that normal here? Because it wasn't in the Blue Mountains."

Ori tilted his head to the side and visibly ran his tongue over his teeth in consideration. "Well, by law, Dwarrowdams hold the same rights and freedom Dwarrows. They can hold a position of power or rule their house or even join the army if they wish it."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming in…"

Ori sighed. "But in reality Dwarrowdams rarely do any of those things. Instead they are expected to stay at home and produce children and work on their craft. You see, Dwarrowdams are very rare and few so they are always very fiercely protected by their kin at all costs. They are kept away from dangerous trades like war and mining, and encouraged to focus on safer trades like crafting jewelry or weaving. They are always heavily guarded from outsiders because it's not unusual for one to be abducted by a desperate Dwarrow or his family. Most dams go along with all of this easily enough because it's just tradition at this point to spend their lives raising their children, caring for their home, and working their craft."

"So Lady Súna is an oddity then," he translated as he absorbed Ori's words. "Were there objections then when she got her position? I mean legally she's not doing anything wrong, but if she is going against tradition…"

"There were some objections but not as much if it had been another lady," the scholar admitted, nodding his head and making his braids bounce. "As a family member of the king, she holds a lot of political power. She also has the support of Princess Dís; the king's younger sister and the Crown Prince's mother. She's another Dwarrowdam that holds a high position and a lot of power."

"I didn't know the king had a sister," he admitted, thinking over what he knew of Erebor. "Actually I didn't even know there _was_ a Crown Prince."

"His name is Fíli, son of Vílin," Ori clarified, giving him a crooked smile. "There was a huge uproar when the king named him his heir a few years ago. Until then, everyone was sure that the king's younger brother, Prince Frerin, would be the Crown Prince. No one thought he would skip over his own brother for his sister's eldest son. Especially since Prince Fíli's father is a common born potter."

"Why did he choose Fíli over Frerin? Is this Frerin a bad prince or something?" Bilbo wondered.

Ori's green eyes went wide and he shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, quite the opposite! Prince Frerin is very noble and brave and beloved by everyone in Erebor. Even the Elves of Mirkwood like him and everyone knows they don't like anyone!"

Bilbo snorted in agreement because he had enough experience with the Mirkwood Elves to know _that_ was certainly true. Sometimes he was pretty sure they didn't even like each other. "Then why didn't the king choose him? Because his popularity makes him a political threat to his own reign?"

"I don't think so. The two are pretty close from what I know," the young Dwarf admitted, shrugging. "No one really knows why he chose Prince Fíli but I do know that Prince Frerin supports his decision. It's no secret that he dotes on his sister's sons obsessively."

"He sounds like a good Dwarf," he complimented while dodging a pair of laughing soldiers who were carelessly swinging their hammers about.

"He is," Ori agreed, nodding his head firmly. "Well, now that you have a pass, you can get a job. Any ideas of where you would like to work?"

"A clinic?" he suggested with a smirk.

The scholar rolled his eyes. "I know _that_. I meant where. There's about one clinic on each level but only the fourth level and below hire outsiders."

Bilbo hummed as he thought over his options. "Do you know which clinic pays the best?"

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue over his canines in consideration. "I don't know for sure, but I do know that the Amber District on this level has the best clinic in the whole city. Would you like to check it out?"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Might as well. Not like I have any other options."

* * *

><p>The Amber District was, as its name implied, made up of amber colored rocks that shimmered like liquid fire. The roads were paved in what looked like copper and the buildings were built of marble and stones that ranged from white and yellow to dark orange and gold. It was a bright and cheery district that reminded him of sunlight, and Bilbo instantly decided that it was his new favorite one for that reason alone. As much as he was used to living underground, he was still a Hobbit, and Hobbits were creatures of sunshine and light. They would never enjoy living in mountains no matter how beautiful said mountain was.<p>

The clinic was located close to the borders of the district that led to the other districts of the city. It was a large and compact building made up of a smooth, white stone that felt rough to the touch. Unlike the embassy, it was much more open with windows as tall as a Man and a massive set of doors that stood open with a line of Khuzdûl chiseled above it. There were no guards at the doors and the Dwarves inside paid them no mind as they went about their business of caring for their patients. When they asked for the healer in charge, they were directed to an older looking Dwarf attending to a patient in a cot.

"What do you want?" the Dwarf asked in Westron without looking away from the wrist he was bandaging.

Ori cleared his throat and began to speak in Khuzdûl to the unknown Dwarf. As he did, Bilbo took the time to study the stranger curiously. Like most of his kind, he was broad shouldered and stout with a wide nose and equally wide forehead. Unlike most of his kind though, his gray and white streaked hair was a fuzzy mess that sat untamed to his shoulders. The only sense of order he had was to his beard that was braided into two separate loops down his chest. As Ori finished speaking, the unkempt Dwarf finally finished with his patient and turned his attention to the two.

"So you're here for a job?" the Dwarf said, staring at Bilbo with light blue eyes hidden under thick and unruly brows.

Bilbo nodded and held his chin up high as he held the stranger's gaze. "Yes I am. My name is Bilbo Baggins and I would like to work for this clinic."

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes and slowly looked him up and down. "Hmp. And what use would I have for a skinny little thing like you? What can you do that my own healers couldn't do better?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly, shrugging one shoulder. "I don't know what your healers have been trained in or what they deal with. All I know are my own skills and capabilities, and if you give me a chance, then I will show you those skills so you can judge them for yourself."

The Dwarf's bushy brows met his hairline. Bilbo thought he almost looked a bit impressed but he couldn't be sure. As the Dwarf continued to stare at him, he stared straight back and took note of the stranger's face fully for the first time. The healer's pale face was heavily lined and dotted with moles and freckles across his nose and cheekbones. He was not handsome in any sense of the word, but there was something charming about him nonetheless. A sense of life and laughter and passion that showed in the creases and groves of his face. It was trustworthy face and it made him relax slightly.

Finally the Dwarf seemed to come to a decision and nodded his head firmly. "Hmm. Very well. I will give you three tasks to do. Complete them and I'll hire ya. Fail and you get lost. Deal?"

Bilbo nodded back. "Fair enough. What would you have me do first?"

"Recently there was an accident down in the mines. A lot of the miners were injured because of it. I want you to head down there and see if they need any aid," the healer directed, crossing his thick arms over his wide chest.

Bilbo blinked and glanced to Ori, who gave him a useless shrug in reply. "Very well. Where are these miners?"

"Try the Brass District on level seven. That's where most of the miners live," suggested the Dwarf.

He nodded and tried not to scowl too obviously over the lack of useful information. "Anything else?"

"Yes, one more thing," replied the healer, smirking at him. "My name is Óin, son of Gróin. Try not to forget it."


End file.
